


The Broad-Ford Crow

by obsolete_theory (ersatzbeta)



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: AU (fairy tale), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ersatzbeta/pseuds/obsolete_theory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There once was a man named Crawford... Fairy tale-style story written for the April challenge on LJ's saiyuki_wk_au comm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Broad-Ford Crow

  
I. Legendary

There once was a man named Crawford. His name, or so his old nurse had told him, meant 'ford of the crows.' His hair was as dark as a raven's wing, and his gaze as bright and keen as any bird's. Even from a young age, he was different from the other children, acted differently, played differently, spoke differently, and everyone in the village.

Eventually, in the village he was born in, and in the lands beyond the village as well, Crawford came to be known as "Crow of the Ford" or, sometimes "the Broad-Ford Crow." This is because, as was the custom, it was unwise to mention by name a being whose intents and powers were of an unknown quantity: if he were a practitioner of the dark arts, he might lay a curse on someone foolish enough to speak his name.

Yes, this man, Crawford, Crow-of-the-Ford, was believed to be a witch. Bad luck seemed to follow him, and the blame for every little thing that went wrong was laid at his supposedly witchy feet.

No one who lived in the village, its surrounding fields, or even the in the charcoal-makers' huts in the forest, could deny that he seemed to have familiars, too. Some of the less superstitious might joke that the Broad-Ford Crow flew with birds of a feather, but this was always said in hushed voices and with an eye to who—or what—might be watching. Everywhere he went, Crow-of-the-Ford was followed by three birds.  

The first was a scarlet jay, whose jeering was so loud and varied and the tone of its voice so colorful that people began to believe it spoke in human tongues, and that it was always laughing because it could see into a man's heart and read all the secrets there; it laughed with the knowledge and it laughed because these secrets, these lives, were so insignificant.

The second bird was a grand, white owl that had but one eye. It was larger than any natural owl had a right to be, and it was scarred and dangerous-looking. A single glance from the Broad-Ford Crow could stop it in mid-swoop, which was a good thing, because any man foolish enough to try to harm it found it was no ordinary owl. If such a man were lucky—or unlucky—enough to hit it with an arrow or graze it with a spear, the owl would attack, would kill without mercy because, it was said, this owl could feel no pain.

The third familiar was hardly ever seen. Small and dark, it hid in the shadows, but it was ever near if its master should be about. This bird was of a kind that was nothing like the birds of the forests and fields and village, and it was said that this bird had once been a boy, and this boy had been trapped with cunning dark spell and made to serve the Broad-Ford Crow. This bird was the most fearsome of all, for it was also said that the powers of death were invested in its feathers, and the powers of reincarnation and rebirth were hidden in its frantic bird's heart.

The Crow-of-the-Ford lived alone, aside from his familiars, in a beech wood. There was some sport among the village children, as children are wont to make, in collecting the nuts from those trees and seeing who dared to get closest to the small, dark cottage in the heart of the woods. Every rustle beneath the branches became the Broad-Ford Crow's clothing as he made his way in the woods, ready to seize and enslave the unwary, and every bird's call became that of his familiars, ready to swoop in and pluck out the eyes of those who had seen too much.

Though Crow-of-the-Ford never was seen to cast a spell, nor hold a séance, or do any of the things for which he was blamed, the rumors of witchcraft persisted and spread.

  
II. Brothers

Four brothers from a far-off land were traveling, seeking someone to work magics to set right the most grievous wrongs in their lives.

The oldest brother, green-eyed and friendly, sought a spell or potion of forgetfulness. He had loved a woman, and the affair had been brief and ended bitterly in her death. He had tried, time and again, to rebuild his life, but could not live it without her. And so he willed that his memories of her should also die.

The next oldest brother, red-haired and with a temper to match, desired the safe return of his sister. She had fallen ill, though whether through natural or unnatural means was unknown, and ever since she had been sleeping a deathless sleep, without waking or stirring. He loved her dearly and would do anything to see her smile once again, and he desired a means to end her long slumber.

The third brother, good-natured and brown-haired, wanted a spell to bring his childhood friend back to life. He wanted to make amends, for they had parted badly, and he carried the guilt of having said the last angry words between them, words which had, he believed, distracted his friend during a dangerous hunt and, ultimately caused his death.

The youngest brother, all smiles and big blue eyes, sought a way to reconcile himself with his birth family. When he was a child, he had been taken from them. But, instead of trying to get him back, his father and brothers had left him where he was, had abandoned him, and so he had grown up in the home of his takers. They had been very good to him indeed, and that, at least, caused him no grief. Not knowing why this had happened, however, plagued the youngest brother with doubts and an unceasing desire to reunite with his blood-kin, to learn why they had done what they had done.

When the four brothers heard of the Broad-Ford Crow, they were impressed with the spells he had wrought. Curses laid, crops withered, cows run dry. There were even rumors of one or two good deeds: once the village had narrowly escaped a flood, and it was said that a visit to the beech wood could cure any manner of illnesses, or bring comfort to someone grieving. Even more telling were the bird-familiars, for in the homeland of the brothers, certain birds were omens of tremendous good fortune.

And so the four brothers decided to visit this village of rumor, so small and so unremarkable and so in fear of its most famous resident that it had come to be called Crow's Ford, its original name long since lost.

After much travel, and no few wrong turns, the brothers reached the village. Though the villagers tried to dissuade them, the brothers would not be stopped, and so the four travelers were shown the way to the beech wood where the Broad-Ford Crow made his home.

  
III. The Beech Wood

The brothers trod lightly in the wood. The trees seemed to reach out to stop them, snagging their clothing on branches, setting thick brambles in the way so that they had to go around. The few birds and animals in the wood stared at them in a single-minded manner, and it was unnervingly quiet.

They wandered for hours beneath and between the beech trees, but could not find the lair of the Broad-Ford Crow. Having failed in their search, the brothers agreed to go back to the village and try again another day. They tried to find the way out of the woods. Nothing looked familiar. The dark was creeping in between the trees, and the brothers feared they might have to spend the night in the strange, silent wood.

The brambles and underbrush became so thick that the brothers were forced to walk single-file, and the brambles grew taller and taller around them, as if they were trying to get through the middle of a hedge. The space narrowed even further, and it seemed that the brothers might be forced to turn around and find another way to go, though it was a grim and disheartening prospect. But then the path they traveled widened a bit, and they could see that there was a more open space ahead. They pressed on.

The brothers came out of a narrow gap in the thorny hedge onto a faint path worn into the earth. What lay ahead, they couldn't begin to guess, but it was surely better to travel the path than to go back through that which they had already passed.

Suddenly, the oldest brother, who led the way, stopped.

Three birds sat in the road: a scarlet jay, a white owl, and a little dark nothing.

The oldest brother looked down at the birds for a minute, then stepped high and over the little line they made. He continued down the path without a word.

The second-oldest brother too, stopped in front of the three silent birds.

"I've come to see your master," he said. "Don't stand in my way."

Instead of stepping over the birds, the second-oldest brother inched closer and closer, until the birds parted before him lest they be stepped upon. He continued down the path after the eldest.

The birds re-formed their line across the path.

The third brother stepped forward.

"I've come to see your master," he said. "Please move aside."

And the birds moved so that he could pass. The third brother continued after the first two brothers, hurrying to catch up, and the birds once again spread themselves in a line across the path.

The youngest brother stepped up to the birds.

"I'm looking for Crow-of-the-Ford," he said. "Is this the right way?"

And, one by one, the scarlet jay, the white owl, and the small, dark bird nodded.

"Thank you," said the brother. "May I pass?"

And the birds blinked at him and took flight.

The youngest brother continued down the path his brothers had taken, though he could no longer see them at all.

  
IV. Expected

The eldest brother arrived at a worn-looking cabin in a small clearing. He strolled up to the door and raised his hand to knock. Before he could lay his knuckles on it, the door swung open.

There stood a man, hair as dark as a raven's wing, eyes bright and wild, the hint of a smile on his face.

The oldest brother took a step backward.

"Are you the man they call Crow-of-the-Ford?" he said.

"I am," said the man.

The oldest brother shivered, and the Broad-Ford Crow's smile widened.

"Come in," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "I've been expecting you."

And so the eldest brother stepped into the cottage, and the door swung shut behind him.

  
The second-oldest brother came suddenly to a clearing with a small cabin in the middle. He stalked over to it, and raised a fist to pound on the door, but before he could do so, the door opened.

A man stood there. He had hair as dark as the feathers of a crow and his eyes as bright, and he smiled.

The second oldest brother scowled.

"You are the Broad-Ford Crow," said the brother.

"I am," said the man.

The second oldest brother's eyes narrowed. Crow-of-the-Ford's smile widened, revealing white, sharp-looking teeth.

"Come in," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "I've been expecting you."

And the second-oldest brother pushed past the Broad-Ford Crow and into the cabin. The Broad-Ford Crow shut the door behind him.

  
The third brother, upon finding the cabin in the heart of the beech-wood, smiled and broke into a run. He was at the door in no time at all but, before he could knock, the door opened.

A man stood there, hair as dark as a raven in flight, eyes shining, a smile canting his lips upward.

"You're Crow-of-the-Ford, aren't you?" said the third brother.

"I am he," said the man.

"Have my brothers come before me?" said the third brother.

"They have," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "Come in. I've been expecting you."

And so the third brother crossed the threshold into the cabin, and the door closed behind him.

  
V.  Youngest

By this time, the very last of the light was fading in the woods, and the youngest brother was hard pressed to keep walking on the path. It was cold, too, and he hurried as much as he dared. There might be wild animals in this uncanny forest, ones much less friendly than the three birds. Though the light was dim, the youngest brother detected a thinning of the trees.

He pushed forward and soon broke into a clearing with a cottage in the middle. A single candle shone through the small window, enough that the youngest brother could see where the door was. He walked up to it, and raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before he'd managed to do so.

A man stood before him, and the youngest brother was frightened. Hair wild and dark as a murder of crows, eyes glistening and reflecting what little light there was, his face half in shadow, his expression unreadable.

"Are—are you the one they call Crow-of-the-Ford?" said the youngest brother.

"I am," said the man.

He opened the door wider, and the light from the candle spilled out onto the doorstep. The youngest brother was no less frightened, for the light did nothing to make Crow-of-the-Ford look less frightening. His gaze was sharp and cunning, and his mouth now twisted in a cruel-looking smile.

"My brothers," said the youngest brother. "Have—have they come to you also?"

"They have," said the Broad-Ford Crow.

The youngest brother shivered.

"I've been expecting you," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "Won't you come in?"

And the youngest brother nodded and stepped forward, into the cottage. Crow-of-the-Ford closed the door behind him.

The youngest brother looked around the inside of the cabin. It was a single room with a fireplace on one wall, a table in the middle, and a loft above. His brothers were nowhere to be found.

"What have you done with them?" he said. "What spell did you cast, to make them vanish?"

"Spell?" said the Broad-Ford Crow. "I have used no magic."

"Then where are they?" said the youngest brother.

"They are seeking that which they desire," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "That and nothing more. Did you not come searching as well?"

Crow-of-the-Ford pointed at a trap door at the far end of the room.

"Your brothers are down there," he said. "And so is what they seek. And so is what you have come for, if you have the courage and the will to find it."

The younger brother considered this.

"It is not a spell to hold us captive," said he. "Or a trap, to turn us into more familiars?"

"I promise," said the Broad-Ford Crow. "It is not any spell or trap of my making. There is nothing to stop you and your brothers from leaving."

The younger brother took a few steps toward the trap door.

"Then why haven't my brothers returned?" said the youngest brother. "It has been some time."

The Broad-Ford Crow shrugged.

"Perhaps they do not want to leave," he said. "Or perhaps they have forgotten how long they have stayed."

Crow-of-the-Ford laughed, then.

"If you want to find them, you had best be going," he said. "I can tell you no more. Go or do not, but choose."

Confused, the youngest brother knew one thing was clear: whatever lay beneath the floor of the cottage had to be dangerous. He had to warn his brothers, had to get them out before something terrible happened.

He lifted the door and started descending the stairs. The last thing the youngest brother saw of the upstairs was the long, dark figure of the Broad-Ford Crow, before the trap door swung shut above his head with a thud.

  
Crow-of-the-Ford shook his head. Perhaps this one would find his way out again, but he doubted it.

For a time, the Broad-Ford Crow sat in front of the fire.

There was a faint scratching at the front door, and Crow-of-the-Ford opened it. The scarlet jay, the white owl, and the small, dark bird flew in. They arranged themselves in a half-circle beside the trap door. The jay whistled a few liquid notes, and Crow-of-the-Ford shook his head.

"Not a word of thanks," he said. "I'm inclined to let them rot."

The owl hooted, and blinked it single yellow eye.

The small, dark, nothing-bird flew over to the Broad-Ford Crow and perched on his hand. It didn't make a sound, but it stared up at him, focusing one bright eye on his. At length, Crow-of-the-Ford sighed.

"If I must," he said. "You may get off me now."

The little bird fluttered down again, and the Broad-Ford Crow shook out his arm and stood.

"We shall speak later," he said. "All of you."

And he threw back the trap-door and he too descended the stairs into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

VI. What the Brothers Saw

The oldest brother saw his life before him, lived without the presence of his beloved. It was neither better nor worse than what he lived now, save one thing: he no longer mourned, had that sorrow deep on his shoulders.

He saw, instead, other loves, smaller loves that did not hurt him as she had. He had joy in this life, though not as great as his beloved had brought. There was sorrow in smaller measure. This pleased him well, for he was tired of feeling the sting of his beloved's death and tired of remembering the life they had shared. It was far better to never have known her.

The oldest brother, seeing all this, seeing what might have been, yearned desperately for such a life and so willed himself closer and closer, wanting to become a part of the fiction before him.

The door that had let him in to this place—this new, old life—began to fade, and the vision in front of him came to life.

   
The second-oldest brother watched in amazement as his sister laughed before him. She pushed the covers away and she stood, out of bed for the first time in years. He stared in amazement, and she laughed again.

"Come brother," she said. "Take my hand and all will be well."

And he took her hand in his and held fast to it, marveling at the warmth and strength in her. The life and warmth in her hand was nothing compared to her smile. The second-oldest brother felt himself begin to smile as well, and tears of relief streaked his face. He turned toward his sister and away from everything else.

The room where he had left her sleeping became more real. And, more quietly than the sleep that had come and stolen his sister away, the door that had led him to her—living, joyous her—began to close.

   
The third brother stood once again by the bridge where he and his childhood friend had quarreled. And there his friend appeared as before, mounted and dressed for the hunt, his face dark and stormy with anger and hurt.

"Why are you here?" said the friend. "Come to change my mind? You can't."

His eyes flashed, and the third brother despaired.

"Maybe I can't," said the third brother. "But let me try, please."

And the friend dismounted and took the reins in one hand. The third brother took a deep breath and stepped forward. He gathered his thoughts and the words he had been preparing since he had heard that his friend had died. This was it, his second chance. He had to make things right this time, had to save his friend.

He opened his heart and began to speak.

The doorway which had transported the third brother to this place beside the bridge began to grow smaller. It shrank with every passing second— from more than a man's height to that of a man, a youth, a child— and dwindled into nothingness.

   
The youngest brother, upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, saw nothing but a long, dim, empty corridor. There were doors along the length of it, all different, all closed, but he had no real desire to open any of them. His brothers were nowhere to be seen.

"Which do you want more?" said a voice. "The family you have now, or the family you might have had?"

The youngest brother spun around and there, though he had heard no footsteps nor seen any light from the trap-door opening above him, stood the Broad-Ford Crow.

"What is this place?" said the brother. "What magic is this?"

The Broad-Ford Crow ignored him.

"You haven't decided which you want," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "And so this place can offer you no destination."

Destination? Did the witch mean that he must choose one of these doors? But how would he know what was on the other side?

"Surely you could tell me what is in my heart, using your magic or that of your familiars," said the youngest brother. "Show me what I want to see. Take me there."

"That is impossible," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "Such a thing is beyond my talents."

The youngest brother stared at Crow-of-the-Ford, but there was no clue in the man's smiling, dark face to say whether or not he was lying.

The youngest brother thought a moment.

"Then, you did not make this place?" he said.

For how else would a powerful witch such as this, with his three familiars and strange ways, not know the secrets beneath the floor of his own cottage?

"Would you believe that I found it?" said Crow-of-the-Ford.

The youngest brother felt his mouth open with astonishment, and the Broad-Ford Crow laughed. After a minute, he calmed. His eyes were bright, but with malice or good humor the youngest brother couldn't say.

"You don't believe me," he said, and sighed. "Perhaps it is better to say that this place called me, and neither I nor it desires me to leave. Not yet."

The youngest brother still didn't understand, but then, he had no magic at all and perhaps would never understand this business of calling, of speaking as if the very walls around them were alive. And all this talk did nothing to help him find his brothers, or to help him reunite with his birth family which had, so long ago, abandoned him.

"Take me to my brothers," said the youngest brother. "Please."

"I can tell you exactly when we are, and I could guide us back to the stairway if we so chose, but that is all," said the Broad-Ford Crow. "I cannot do as you ask."

"When we are?" said the youngest brother. "I don't understand."

Crow-of-the-Ford smiled, and the youngest brother shivered at the sight.

"The past, the present, the future," said the Broad-Ford Crow. "What might yet be, what never was, all gathered here before us. What we desire to see will show itself, if we are patient."

The youngest brother shivered. If it were true, and the witch before him were not simply mad…How could he possibly find his brothers? And how could he ask them to leave, when the greatest wrongs in their lives were rooted in the past—a past that was, if the Broad-Ford Crow could be believed, here for the taking?

"My brothers have been here too long," said the youngest. "And I am not patient, knowing they are in danger."

And the youngest brother ran off down the hall.

"They bring the danger on themselves," said the Broad-Ford Crow, though no one was there to listen.

A door before him eased open, and the Broad-Ford Crow laughed again, the sound echoing.

"You have no patience either," he said. "Though there is all the time in the world and more…"

He surveyed the hall before him. He wondered what this door held, wondered what was so urgent that the door—and the vision it held—was trying to come to him unbidden.

Every room here was a different day: endless Mondays, myriad Tuesdays, dozens of Wednesdays, all of it laid out in row after row of rooms. Truly, Crow-of-the-Ford's only talent, the only real magic he possessed, was the ability to navigate these rooms, to know exactly when and where he was: the rooms were jumbled together, and one who could not navigate the tangled hallways—for there were many beyond this one—would surely get lost and die there: if one were not caught by the visions the rooms held, it was altogether too likely one would die of old age before finding the way out.

Crow-of-the-Ford gathered his thoughts, his desires for the knowledge, and the door opened fully and gathered him in. And it was here that he, the Broad-Ford Crow, learned what he would of the future.

VII. Myriad

The youngest brother didn't know where to start looking for his brothers. They could be anywhere. He looked down at the floor. He looked behind him, back where he knew the Broad-Ford Crow had been. He had made no footprints to follow, and no dust had been disturbed by his passage. Nothing. Indeed, if he hadn't known his brothers had been here, he wouldn't have believed that anyone had ever set foot in this hallway. The enormity of the task hit him, then, and he felt his courage and determination flag. He began to doubt his purpose. Could his brothers find their ways without him? Who was he, anyway, to go looking for them? He was the youngest, the least, the one whose very blood hadn't wanted him. So he wandered for a time, studied the doors and tried to decide which one to open.

When the youngest brother blinked, and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes, he was surprised by what he saw. He was still in the great, long  hallway, but it was no longer dark. It was glaringly white now, and the doors were voids in that brightness. He squinted and put a hand across his eyes, stumbling forward a few feet. He opened the first door he came to, hoping that whatever lay inside it would be less blinding.

  
When he shut the door behind him, the brightness suddenly cut off, he sighed with relief. And then he stared, frozen.

At first, the youngest brother couldn't believe what he saw: it was the bedroom of his childhood, before he had been taken, before he'd made a family with his foster-brothers. A window in the room looked out onto the same view of fields he remembered, and the bed was against the wall just so, and his favorite toy, a certain carved wooden horse, was on the floor. The curtains in front of him stirred fitfully, aided by a warm summer breeze that wafted in. The youngest brother turned around, looked some more, and he recognized even the smallest of details. He spent a good long time observing the room's interior before the window caught his attention. He thought he saw something outside. Could it be?  He walked over and leaned on the sill, sticking his head out for a better view.

There he was, young enough to be unsteady as he walked and ran, and his mother and father were beside him. He remembered this day. It was just an ordinary summer day, really, except that it was the last happy time he could recall before his mother died and he was taken from and forsaken by his father. They'd had a picnic in the field, and mother had braided him a crown of daisies, and his older brothers had come after their schooling and played with him and laughed, and father had smiled…

The youngest brother pulled himself back inside. He looked around the room once more, and it seemed darker now, frightening. What in the world was going on? The only exit from the room seemed to be the door he'd come in, set opposite the window. He shivered deep inside, because magic was the only explanation for such a perfect recreation of his memories, and, if the Broad-Ford Crow could be trusted, it was not a magic he had made. The thought of someone or something sifting through his memories, like wheat from the chaff at harvest time, made him feel ill.

Still, the youngest brother regretted that he could not stay, could not, somehow, become a part of this memory-room once again and relive what little time he'd had with his birth family.

He opened the door, stepped through, and shut it behind him.

  
And he stared again. He wasn't in the hall as he'd expected, but rather in a strange room he'd never seen before. He was staring at himself, the same age as he was now. The him he watched was tied to the ceiling, and someone, a half-familiar man, was beating the other-him. The youngest brother couldn't make out what the other man said, but then a stray thought took away his breath. Could it be this other man was one of his older birth-brothers, now grown? The shape of the face was right, and his eyes were the same, even as he wielded a rod against the body of the other-him. He had a brief second's wondering: was this what would have been, or was it something that only might have been, if his father hadn't abandoned him?

The other-him cried out, and the youngest brother shrank away from the scene before him. He fumbled for the latch of the door behind him and fled as quickly as he could.

   
Though he was desperate to get back to the safety of the hall, the youngest brother found himself in another room. This room was even darker than the last, and he couldn't make out much of it at first. A large window with heavy drapes drawn across it, a desk and chair in front of it, and…another version of himself, seated at the desk.

There he was, perhaps a year or two older, and dressed in fine clothing, a dark suit with a cravat at the neck as the well-to-do might wear. His hair lay strangely across his forehead, but he could recognize himself nonetheless. As he watched, the other-him looked up and smiled: someone who looked very much like his second-oldest brother—though his hair was much longer and pulled back into a braid—came into the room. They talked, though the youngest brother couldn't understand a word either of them said.

But there was something wrong in the way they interacted. They were both too formal, too stiff, and the youngest brother knew the smile the other-him smiled was false. The youngest brother knew that something in their relationship, in their brotherhood, had broken. It tore at his heart to think that this could happen, and so he reached for the door again.

  
The door opened before he even touched it, this time, and its contents sprang to life, wiping out what he had been watching in an instant.

There was a girl now, blue-haired, bleeding. It was a park or a garden of some kind, and it was night, and there were men running away from her, but he—another him, clad in foreign clothing, but it was his face, his face—ran toward her, screaming a word over and over again that he didn't understand. Was it her name? And the other-him clasped the girl to him and pressed a hand over her wound, but the youngest brother could see that she was dying, even as the other-him dyed himself red in her blood trying to save her.

And then he froze, because he saw, at the very edge of the park, a man who might have been the Broad-Ford Crow. But he too turned away, and the youngest brother knew he was not real either, though it all seemed real enough to touch. The youngest brother couldn't stand the grief before him. He looked to the door behind him, but it was gone. It occurred to him then, for the first time, to wonder if it were possible to get stuck in one of these places.  
   
His blood ran cold. The other-him continued to scream.

  
He searched frantically among the trees and grassy slopes, running across the park and criss-crossing its breadth many times. The search was difficult: there were but a few stars, and he had no torch to light. He could be lost here forever, watching the same scene over and over again. The youngest brother felt himself slipping into panic.

At last, he found the door. It lay against the trunk of a tree, closed. The youngest brother opened it and scrambled through to the other side. Even as he closed it, and the scene before him faded, the sound of the other-him crying out lingered.

The youngest brother found himself alone in the long hallway again. He slid to the floor in relief, his legs quivering. He was frightened by what he had seen, all these other-hims, and even more frightening was the thought that he might have to open all the doors, face down everything behind them, in order to find his brothers. For he realized then that he had left his doubts behind. What mattered to the youngest brother was the family he had now, his three elder brothers who could be facing more horrifying things at this very instant than he could begin to imagine. And he knew that the love he felt for them gave him strength and courage. He'd do what he had to for them. The youngest brother stood again. He took a few deep breaths and nodded to himself.

"I have decided," he said.

He picked a door, grasped the knob firmly, and opened the door.

 

VIII. Vision

Crow-of-the-Ford was surprised by what lay behind the door, surprised and furious. The place he was in showed the hallways, with their endless doors and futures, collapsing, crumbling around him as he ran, falling to dust as the brothers ran behind him, in front of him, beside him. In gruesome detail, they all gasped out their last breaths, crushed by falling stonework or choking on the dust so thick it colored the air and made it impossible to see more than an arm's length ahead.

He couldn't allow it to happen. It was a calculated risk, but that boy, the youngest of his brothers, could not be allowed to reach his brothers. They could not be allowed to leave. The Broad-Ford Crow felt the future rearranging itself around him, for even as he made his plans, that boy was making his.

He laughed, once, allowing himself the luxury of indulging in the irony. Even here, in this castle of Mondays, what the Broad-Ford Crow needed most was more time. Time to make preparations, time to cast his spells. This place of magic was going to collapse and take all of them with it. Even if he himself could get out in time, the magic of this place would be fractured, and never again would he be able to shape the future to fit his needs. Crow-of-the-Ford worked furiously upon the problem.

Abruptly, he turned his back on the tableau of broken stones and bodies. He whistled a single note, long and low, and into the silence it went. The flutter of wings came, then, and Crow-of-the-Ford braced himself. His familiars lighted on him, the jay and the owl on one shoulder, the nothing-bird on the other.

"Find them," he said. "Don't let them leave."

The jay whistled. The Broad-Ford Crow smiled, and nodded, taking the bird on a finger.

"I'm going to lock the doors," he said. "Now go."

And the birds took flight.

 

 

 

IX. Three Familiars  
   
The first bird, the white owl, flew swift and silent, obedient to its master's wishes. It was the largest and strongest of the three familiars, and the strange magic of the air it flew was no obstacle to it, and so it soon reached a place where a river ran, and a bridge marched over the water, and two men stood before the bridge, talking. The owl perched on a tree branch just above and beyond the two men.

The owl, though it could not speak, could understand the speech of men, and so it listened. The men had been friends, it seemed, but they had quarreled. The man holding the reins to a horse had spurned his former friend, and the other man had come to try to mend the break between them. And it seemed, to the white owl, that the man with the horse was starting to change his mind.

The white owl drew on its strengths of violence and madness, of savagery and its ability to give no quarter while fighting, and the owl cast a spell on itself. It spread one wing and examined it. Its feathers and bones were half real and half shadow, and it could see through itself. The owl hooted, long and low, but neither men heard it. Satisfied, it dove at the man with the horse.

It passed through the head of the man as if the man were no more substantial than fog, and the owl laid his spell deep inside the man, and the owl felt it take root in him, sliding off its feathers and into the heart and mind of the man. The white owl banked sharply and came to rest in another nearby tree.

Its magic made, the white owl watched and waited.

  
The second bird, the scarlet jay, flew quickly and noisily, shedding bright bits of down and jeering to itself as it went. It knew the turns and twists of the magic in the halls as well as it knew anything, and it soon came to the place where a young, red-haired man laughed with a small, dark-haired girl. The two of them sat on a bed, close to each other, and the scarlet jay, perched on a windowsill just out of sight, observed as the girl leaned on the shoulder of the man. They looked happy.

The scarlet jay, unable to speak with any tongue but its own, nonetheless understood the quiet murmurings that passed between the newly-reunited brother and sister. The sister had been asleep for two years or more, and all that time the brother had longed for her to awaken, to live again.

The jay called on its magic and wove a strong spell, to beguile and ensnare, to cut to the heart of a person's thoughts and feelings, to compel and control. The magic soaked into its feathers, brightening its already fiery hue. The jay nearly glowed. Thus clad, the jay pecked at the windowpane.

The sister rose from the bed, a curious expression on her face. She opened the catch on the window, and the scarlet jay slipped inside. When the girl reached out a hand to him, the jay hopped onto it, feigning tameness. It held tight to her and bated, shaking the magic from its feathers onto her. The bird felt the spell take hold of her, felt the magic wending through her blood, and the scarlet jay flitted from her hand to the windowsill, and back outside again.

As the sister turned back to the brother, the scarlet jay waited and watched.

  
The third bird, the dark little nothing-bird, flew slowly and deliberately. Being the most powerful of the three familiars, it barely had to move beyond Crow-of-the-Ford before it drew near to what it had been sent to find. And when it reached the place where a man, alone, re-lived his life, it waited.

The nothing-bird watched the fair-haired man go through what appeared to be a very ordinary life indeed. The bird hid itself in the shadows, in the places the man either did not see or did not wish to see; he acted as if he were unaware of these dark places, but the nothing-bird didn't know how the man could ignore the woman who also existed in the shadows. Perhaps they had once been in love, though the bird, never having experienced this, could not say for sure. But the man did not see him, and the woman saw nothing but the man, and so the nothing-bird was alone.  
   
The moments stretched on, and still the nothing-bird did not act against the man. The nothing-bird felt the spells of the white owl and the scarlet jay take hold and still it waited, though it had also been sent to cast a spell. It kept its magic to itself and did not allow the man to see so much as a flick of one of its feathers. The nothing-bird's heart beat swift and strong, and the magic that it had burned bright inside it. It would lay its magic on the man soon, and it could feel the shape of the spell in its bones. Soon, the time would come. Soon.

The nothing-bird bird watched the man.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I finally finished! (It only took me the better part of a year -_-...) Sorry some of the formatting is a little funky, but I just can't seem to get the between-part breaks to be even. Oh well. Enjoy the story!

X. The Third Brother  
  
The youngest brother stepped through the doorway and found himself standing on a hill, halfway up its rocky surface, the hill itself presiding over a wood and a stream with a bridge across it.  
  
His brother--the closest to him in age--stood before the bridge, speaking with a man who held the reins to a handsome horse. It took a moment for the youngest to recognize the man, but then he knew him: he was his brother's friend, dead now for a few years.  The youngest brother frowned thoughtfully. It seemed the Broad-Ford Crow had not lied. What the brothers sought was indeed to be found in this strange place.  
  
A wind rushed past the youngest brother, and he saw something, a white blur, go speeding by him and, somehow, it passed right through the friend of his brother. Immediately, a change came over the man. The expression on his face changed. He and the third brother had been talking amicably, without the rancor that had grown between them just before their separation. Now, he appeared to be in a black, dangerous mood. His eyes, brown before, flashed yellow. His hand drifted to the lash fastened on his belt.  
  
"Brother!" cried the youngest. "Look out!"  
  
And the third brother turned his head, even as his friend drew out the lash.  
  
The youngest brother scrambled down the hill, half-sliding, stumbling over rocks and grass and acquiring bruises and scrapes. Still, he put himself between his brother and the danger, and stopped the other man from using his lash.  
  
“What’s wrong?” said the third brother. “What has happened?”  
  
The former friend was big and strong, and the youngest brother struggled to keep him at bay. At last, he and his brother managed to pin him to the ground.  
  
"He is under a spell," said the youngest. "If we let him go, he will surely kill us."  
  
“But he is my friend,” said the third brother.  
  
The man struggled beneath them, nearly throwing the two of them off as he kicked his legs and twisted. The two brothers held on tight and managed to subdue him again.  
  
The third brother paused for breath before continuing.  
  
“Even if he is bespelled,” he said. “He is still my friend, and I won’t allow him to come to harm.”  
  
“If we had rope, we could tie him up,” said the youngest. “And then we could leave this place without fear that he would come after us while we search for our elder brothers.”  
  
The third brother looked at the youngest then.  
  
“They are here?” he said. “But I thought—perhaps—that the Broad-Ford Crow had killed them, or made them his creatures.”  
  
“We are all in danger,” said the youngest. “We have to find them and escape this place.”  
  
“Can we find them?” said the third brother.  
  
“I believe we can,” said the youngest. “I found you, didn’t I?”  
  
After some thought, the brothers came up with a plan. They worked together and, with no small difficulty, tied the man to his horse with the reins. A slap on the horse’s rump sent the man safely off into the woods, away from the brothers. The third brother stood for a while, silent, and looking out at the green distance beyond the bridge.  
  
“We’d become friends again,” he said. “And then this happened.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” said the youngest brother. “If we could have saved him…”  
  
“I know,” said the third brother. “It’s not your fault. But you said he had been magicked? How did you know that?”  
  
And so the youngest brother explained what he had learned, on his own and from Crow-of-the-Ford, about how this place was magic, and the principles that governed it were very different, how the heart and the will ruled here. The two brothers then went, together, to the door on the hill overlooking the bridge. And together they opened the door and walked through, the door slowly closing behind them.  
  
  
The half-real white owl slipped through the cracked-open door. The door shut, pinning one of its tail feathers there even as the door locked itself with an ominous series of clicks. Crow-of-the-Ford’s magic settled into the door, like blood soaking into leather, and the owl knew that door would never open again.  
  
The owl pulled hard, freed itself and flew on, leaving a single, white feather behind.  
  
  
  
XI. Brother and Sister  
  
The two brothers, youngest and third, found themselves stepping from the hill in the woods into a bedroom. They blinked as their eyes adjusted to the change, and it took a moment or two beyond that to realize that this place was very, very familiar. The beams supporting the roof were dark but clean, and the whitewashed walls, hung with a few bright tapestries, angled down from the ceiling just so. Tucked beneath the eaves was a bed. The covers were rumpled and it was empty. A single window presided at the opposite end of the room from the door,  looking out onto a mix of pasture and woods, with a dirt path weaving through it all.  
  
"But this is home," said the third brother.  
  
"Where else would our older brother be?" said the youngest. "Sister has been most important to him, ever since..."  
  
He laid a hand on the bed. It was still warm.  
  
"Come on," he said. "Let's keep looking."  
  
The two brothers opened the door, which led to a narrow little staircase, and they soon were on the first floor of the house. A fire burned in the hearth, and a steaming kettle hung over the flames. Two cups sat at the small table, flanking two plates with crumbs. There wasn't anyone there, though, for all the signs of life.  
  
They checked the two other rooms, but neither their brother nor their sister were to be found. And so the brothers went outside, into the little, fenced-in yard that stood between the house and the fields around it. In the far corner of the yard grew an apple tree, whose branches spread wide over the fence and yard. In spring, the perfume of the blossoms was heady, and the petals shed blanketed the ground with white.  
  
That scent was overpowering now; in all their years of living at the house, never had the apple tree flowered so. The falling petals were a snowstorm, and the ground was inches deep, and hardly a branch could be seen for the profusion of blossoms. And it was there, in the thickest of the perfumed, flowered air, that the two brothers glimpsed who they were looking for, a flash of scarlet in the white.  
  
The brothers approached the tree. Lifting aside a few drooping branches, they found their brother and sister leaning against the scarred bark of the trunk. As soon as the youngest and third brothers approached, the second brother put an arm protectively around his sister. For though it was true she was sister to all of them, the second-oldest brother was closest to her, and when she had lapsed into her strange sickness, he had been the one to mourn and grieve without end. And it was his desire that had brought him here, to a place where she did not sleep but was alive and well.  
  
"Look, brothers," he said. "Sister is awake."  
  
Though tears ran down his face, the second-oldest brother smiled.  
  
The youngest brother and the third looked at each other, and they looked at their second-oldest brother and the way he clung to their sister.  
  
"Come, brothers," said she. "Won't you sit with us?"  
  
She sank down onto the carpet of petals, and the second-oldest brother, arm over her shoulder, slid along the tree trunk with her, never letting go of her, as if he were afraid that if he stopped touching her that she would fall asleep again, or that she would disappear and he would never find her again.  
  
The third brother and the youngest shook their heads.  
  
"She isn't…" said the youngest. "This isn't…"  
  
Though he lost his words, the second-oldest seemed to understand. He frowned.  
  
"I won't leave her," he said. "I can't."  
  
The second-oldest brother stood between his brothers and his sister, as if he were trying to protect her from them.  
  
"Stay, brother," she said. "Please. Don't let them separate us again."  
  
She draped her arms around his shoulders and her lips brushed his cheek. She whispered into his ear, and the second-oldest brother nodded. His hair tangled in hers, red flashing through dark.  
  
The youngest brother looked at the two of them, standing there, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It wasn't right. Something wasn't right. It took him a minute to figure out, but when he did, it chilled him.  
  
Their sister was too tall. She was nearly a foot too tall, to be able to rest her arms and chin against their second-oldest brother like that. And even as they looked, her hair was changing color, slowly lightening to blend with their brother's, and the angles of her face were, ever so subtly, sharpening.  
  
Whatever she was, she was not their sister.  
  
"Look at her, brother," said the third-oldest. "Can you claim to recognize her now? She is nothing like our sister: she has bespelled you!"  
The second-eldest brother looked at her. He smiled.  
  
"What does it matter, when she is alive and well," he said. "The sickness has changed her appearance, but inside she is still my sister."  
  
He looked pale and tired even as he smiled, and the not-sister' eyes brightened like quicksilver, like marsh fire. She seemed to leech the very life out of him, wearing him out even as she grew stronger and brighter and continued to change. He sat, back against the tree, and she laid her head in his lap, smiling up at him with a face that had never been their sister's.  
  
"Tell them to leave us," she said.  
  
Her voice was sibilant and harsh. The second-eldest nodded.  
  
"Leave us," he said. "If you do not want to join in our happiness and live as we once lived, as we should have always lived."  
  
He stroked the not-sister's hair, slowly, repetitive, and his eyelids drooped. He yawned. His hand rested, still, on the head in his lap.  
  
The youngest had a dreadful premonition. If their brother fell asleep, they would never get him out. He nudged his brother, who nodded.  
  
"Let us make amends," the third brother said. "Brother, sister, please. It has been too long since all of us were together."  
  
They approached slowly, wading through the white petals. The second-eldest was struggling to keep his eyes open, but he smiled at his brothers.  
  
"It's good to be home again," he said. "I'm so tired."  
  
The youngest reached the two of them first, and he stretched out a hand to shake his brother into wakefulness. The not-sister snapped its jaws together, and severed the littlest two fingers from that hand. She gulped them down, and color flushed through her pale skin. The youngest cried out in pain, and blood splattered across one cheek of the second-eldest brother.  
  
The spurt of fresh blood across his face roused him completely: the two brothers saw him snap into an alertness they hadn't seen ever since they had separated in the beech wood that encircled the Broad-Ford Crow's cabin. The horror in his eyes was plain: he shoved the thing's head off of him and stood quickly beside his brothers.  
  
"Stay, please," it said.  
  
It reached for him with clawed hands. The second-eldest shook his head. All three brothers backed away slowly, flanking the youngest, who was wrapping his hand in a bit of cloth torn from his shirt.  
  
All three of them ran for the house and the door within it, and the not-sister howled after them.  
  
The door was open only a fraction of an inch: all three brothers heaved on it hard, and even then they only just slipped through.  
  
The sound of the not-sister came too, and though the door cut it off, a little bit came through, and changed from a single, sustained note to a dark little shadow that flew through the air.  
  
But the brothers did not see this. They had only their eldest brother in mind now.  
  
  
  
XII. The Nothing-Bird's Spell  
  
All three brothers came into a darkened room. Their eldest brother stood in the middle of it, and shades surrounded him. He spoke to them, though he might as well have spoken to the air for all the realness they held, and yet he acted as if these figments were people.  
  
"He looks happy," said the second-oldest.  
  
The third brother and the youngest nodded.  
  
"It will break his heart to leave," said the third.  
  
"It will kill him if he doesn't," said the youngest.  
  
He looked to the second-oldest, solemn.  
  
"I have no doubt you would have died as well, had we left you," he said.  
  
The second oldest looked at the youngest's hand, at the red-stained bandage around it. He sighed, but nodded.  
  
They tried to get their eldest brother's attention, but no matter how they put themselves between him and what he saw, all he saw were the illusions before him and not the reality.  
  
And then a small bird, a little nothing-bird flew before them. Each of the brothers swore to seeing a different bird, but one thing was clear: the bird brought magic in its wake. The shades faded away, until the four brothers alone were left, along with one other. A woman. Though their reactions varied, each knew her as the woman the eldest had once loved, who had been loved only for a short time before her death.  
  
The eldest brother recoiled from her as if she were a ghost bent on harm and vengeance. She smiled at him, and the other three brothers could see the tears glittering on her cheeks.  
  
"Run, my love," she said. "Run."  
  
And he ran, dragging his brothers along with them, though it was unclear if he ran for her sake, or for his.

  
  
The door out of the eldest's dreams brought them to the stone corridor, and the stairs that led out of that strange and powerful place were within reach.  
  
"Come, brothers," said the youngest. "Let us leave this place!"  
  
All four brothers nodded in agreement.  
  
"I think not."  
  
And the Broad-Ford Crow came between them and the stairs.  
  
"Get out of our way," said the eldest.  
  
"We will not stay here," said the second-oldest.  
  
"There is nothing here for us," said the third brother.  
  
"Let us walk in peace," said the youngest. "We wish only to leave."  
  
A dark and dreadful force gathered around Crow-of-the-Ford, and the brothers, one by one, were brought to their knees before it. Crow-of-the-Ford smiled down at them.  
  
"You shall stay," he said. "And you too, bowing before me, shall be made into familiars and do the work that I have set you, and you will be grateful to call me master."  
  
And then, like the rushing of a waterfall, like the settling of a thousand pairs of wings coming to rest, came the Broad-Ford Crow's three familiars: the white owl, the scarlet jay, and the dark little nothing-bird. They shifted, from foot to foot, on the stone floor.  
  
"Ah," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "My pets. You have done a good work today, in my name. You shall be richly rewarded."  
  
The owl gave a long, low hoot. The scarlet jay gave its harsh cry. The nothing-bird trilled a high, clear sound. The birds began to change.  
  
"No!" said the Broad-Ford Crow. "It cannot be!"  
  
Three men stood before the brothers now, between them and Broad-Ford Crow. One had hair as red as the feathers of the scarlet jay; one had snowy white hair and a single eye as yellow as the owl's; and the third, a youth, was as small and dark and quiet as the nothing-bird had been. They were dressed plainly, and seemed to make much effort of standing there.  
  
"You broke the spells holding us here," said the red-haired man. "And for that we are grateful."  
  
"We could kill the Crow-of-the-Ford for you," said the yellow-eyed man. "We were not his creatures, and yet he used us just the same."  
  
The red-haired man and the white both looked angry.  
  
"No," said the nothing-boy. "Esstet wants him. Can't you hear it?"  
  
The three men cocked their heads in unison, staring up at the stone ceiling of the hall.  
  
The Broad-Ford Crow paled.  
  
"I command this place," he said. "And I command you as well, though you have never appeared before me as you do now."  
  
"Did you think you couldn't be fooled?" said the nothing-boy. "That this place wasn't powerful in its own right?"  
  
"It trapped us here," said the white-haired man. "And so we served its purposes until you came along."  
  
"You were a hard master, and ignorant of the nature of Esstet," said the red-haired man.  
  
"Esstet would have kept these brothers and made them its creatures, if you hadn't interfered," said the nothing-boy. "Instead, it now looks to you."  
  
Crow-of-the-Ford frowned.  
  
"I have explored this place, mastered it with my will," said Crow-of-the-Ford. "There is nothing left here that I do not know."  
  
The red-haired man laughed sharply, as harsh as the jeering of the scarlet jay he had been.  
  
"How sure are you that the magic is yours?" said the nothing-boy.  
  
And the Broad-Ford Crow was silent.  
  
"Just as Esstet showed these brothers what they sought, Esstet gave you what you desired," said the nothing-boy. "It gave you power, power you could use as your own."  
  
"You were blinded," said the red-haired man. "You did not question yourself, so confident were you."  
  
"We all fell to pride," said the white-haired man. "But you have fallen further than most."  
  
"Tell us," said the red-headed man. "How long has it been since you wandered the roads, left this place behind for more than a day or two?"  
  
The three bird-men walked closer to the Broad-Ford Crow, and the Broad-Ford Crow retreated from them.  
  
"It cannot be," he said. "It cannot—"  
  
He backed further and further, until he hit the stone wall. And then, when he could go no further, he began to quail before the men who had served him. The jay, the owl, and the nothing-bird encircled him, making a ring of their bodies. And when they broke the ring, a crow cawed and burst out of the narrow gap. Cursing in its own tongue, it flew away into the darkness.  
  
"It is done," said the youth.  
  
The stones around them rumbled ominously. Further down where none of them could see, stones began breaking free.  
  
"You must run," said the red-haired man. "Esstet is angry that we have broken free, and would rather all of us die."  
  
The walls began to crumble, and great chunks of the ceiling fell and raised huge clouds of dust. The yellow-eyed man laughed.  
  
"We will fight it, long enough for you to escape," he said. "It will be a fitting end, for had we not fought long ago, the crow would never have puppeted us all."  
  
The youth bowed his head.  
  
"Good luck to you," he said.  
  
And all three men changed once more, into bright sheets of light, and they kept the four brothers from harm, holding the stonework up as they escaped.  
  


Part XIII: Home  
  
The brothers stumbled out of the Crow-of-the-Ford's cabin and ran as fast as their tired legs and lungs allowed. No sooner did they reach the woods that ringed the building than a great, rumbling, tearing sound came, and the ground shook and threw the brothers down. The whole clearing collapsed into itself, leaving a great raw wound in the earth. After a quick look at the devastation, they walked on.  
  
The brothers did not stop walking until they exited the beech wood and came to the main road. And then, they sat at the side of the road so that other travelers might pass them as they discussed what to do next.  
  
"We were lucky," said the youngest. "We all could have died."  
  
"Or worse," said the second-oldest. He looked, guiltily, at the youngest's hand.  
  
"I found what I was looking for, but it wasn't real," said the third brother.  
  
"It was real," said the first. "But it was not for us."  
  
"I am tired of wandering," said the youngest.  
  
"As am I," said the second-oldest.  
  
"And I," said the third.  
  
He looked to the eldest.  
  
"Brother," he said. "We have journeyed long and far. Surely, might we now travel home, having found what we were seeking?"  
  
The eldest brother nodded.  
  
"It has been a long time since we were home," he said. "I, too, am tired."  
  
  
And so the four brothers set down the road, leaving the beech wood and the memory of the Broad-Ford Crow far behind.


End file.
